Pleasantville
by Smellyfishh
Summary: AU. The Lone Wanderer is confused when she finds herself in a Vault 101 version of the Tranquility Lane simulation. Discovering a way out is more difficult than she would have imagined. Upon finding her father, she quickly learns that something is terribly wrong with the people she thought she knew. Sorta one-sided Butch/LW.
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary:**__ The sun is bright, the children are smiling and everyone is comfortable living on Tranquility Lane… Except that's not exactly true. The Lone Wanderer finds James much more easily than anticipated, but she quickly learns that there is something terribly wrong with everyone. Sorta AU._

_**AN:/**__ So, I've changed the limitation of the simulation to fit my agenda. Dr. Braun can conjure up people based on the residents' memories. He can make people see whatever he wants; he has ultimate control. Tranquility Lane is also considerably bigger, more people, more places. It's more like the Lone Wanderer is stuck in a pre-war, paradise, Alternate Universe while having knowledge of the canon one.__Thoughts in italics, "italics are emphasis in speech"_

_Also apologies in advance, gave my F!Lone Wanderer a name: Eva, Evie. Nickname pronounced "eve-EE", ya dig? _

* * *

In that moment a strange sensation shot up her spine, numbing and paralyzing. The feeling automatically makes her nauseous as she does her best to steady herself. A cloud of white light hazes her vision as she struggles to move but her body does nothing. She is completely still yet she feels as if her person is swaying back and forth.

_It's like a boat,_ she decides, even though she has never experienced tides or the sea. The push and pull warps her reality until she sees nothing but the darkness. Her green eyes dart around, pleading to see some sort of light in the void but she is unable to. Once the panic begins to die out, she focuses on her breathing. The inflating sensation doesn't bring her as much peace as she would of hoped but unconsciousness borders in her mind nonetheless. It was much easier to forget her location in Vault 112 than she had anticipated but she never lost sight of her goal. _Find Dad._ She wants to mutter in the darkness but she cannot command her lips to move. As sleep sets in, she repeats the statement in her head until she reaches a state of unconscious.

_Find Dad. _

_Find Dad._

_Find Dad._

* * *

Eva wasn't sure why but she dreamt of the Vault again. She hadn't thought about it for quite a few months so it was a surprise to her. The thing about it that most struck her was who she dreamt of. Out of all the people she cared about, it was a memory of someone she'd rather forget. The memory played through her sleep-ridden mind like a tape reel. All of the details of the moment crisp, as if someone had been picking her brain. It felt fresh even though it occurred several years ago.

Jonas and her father had stepped out of the clinic earlier than usual and gave their young doctor-in-training the rest of the day off. Most days in the clinic were slow and this one was no exception. A lot of her job consists of cleaning instruments, sterilizing equipment and organizing data. Occasionally, she got to assist her father in surgery but those moments were rare. She did a lot of waiting around and waiting for instruction from her father. As a result, she got her fair share of reading done everyday.

However her concentration on her comic book is broken when she hears someone shuffling around in the hallway. The body leans itself on the doorframe, clutching its abdomen. She recognizes the vault dweller immediately and pales. He's huffing, nearly falling over.

Butch hisses, forcing himself to be smug despite his heavy breath and the burning pain in his side. His voice retains a commanding tone despite the unfortunate state he's in.

"Hey _nosebleed_, your Pop here?" He rudely snarls at her, as if she were the bane of his existence.

She immediately drops the comic and rushes over to him, noticing the dark stain that was spreading under his blue jumpsuit. Her face screws up in minor revulsion.

"Oh god, what happened?" Despite the injury, there is no compassion in the sentiment. Her tone is more irritated and surprised rather than concerned like most people would. She finds it difficult to make herself care about the pain Butch DeLoria had found himself in. Actually, it shocks her how completely indifferent she is to her neighbor's possible demise.

"None of your business, pukesack. Just fix me up will ya'?"

She gestures to remove his leather jacket and he smacks her hands away, extremely offended. "Who said you could touch my jacket?"

Her nose scrunches up in aggravation and she hisses. "How else am I going to look at it?"

He sighs dramatically, grumbling about the minor annoyance, removing the jacket himself. Face twisting up in pain, he forces himself to keep a calm exterior.

In his injured state, he's a lot easier to drag over to the table but he still whines in protest as she forces him to sit down.

"Watch it!"

"I am! God! Just hold still."

His eyes grow wide when she pulls out the stimpak from the first-aid kit. He begins to squirm at the thought, dodging her as she tries to administer the shot.

"What do ya' think your doin'? Get that thing away from me!"

"Oh please, you got stabbed and you're afraid of needles?"

He growls at her. "I'm not afraid! I just don't like 'em!"

"Geez, you're bleeding all over the table. Just stay still."

Despite his injury, he's still able to capture her wrists, effectively preventing her from administering the stimpak. This ultimately angers her; she'd rather he'd not touch her.

"Let go!"

"No way!"

She pauses and overtly points behind him. "What's that?"

Without thinking, he rotates his whole body to see that she isn't actually pointing at anything. She takes the opportunity while he's distracted to jam the shot into upper thigh and he sucks in a rough breath.

"Damn it! I said-" He stops short as the stimpak begins to take affect and he lets out a breath of relief. "Oh…"

Evie rolls her eyes, arms crossed. A frustrated sigh leaves her lips, her voice stern. "Alright. On your back."

He snorts and rolls his eyes at how serious she sounds. "Yeesh, you're not gonna take me out first?"

Her upper lip curls in disgust at the thought. She feels a sense of violation run up her spine and forcefully positions him despite his childlike whining. His eyes widen when she unceremoniously unzips his vault suit all the way past the wound. She probably should have gone a little further but she didn't care if she was doing doctor stuff, she'd let him bleed out before she would get that close to his crotch. His confused blue eyes dart back and forth as she pulls his arms out of the sleeves to get ample access to his side.

She selects a pair of scissors out of the pan and quickly cuts up his undershirt all the way up his chest.

He gazes at her, surprised at her urgency. When she glances up at him from cleaning around the wound and notices the worry in his eyes, she mumbles, unsure if she should attempt to be comforting. "It's just a graze but you're going to need stitches…"

He nods a little bit to acknowledge the statement and lays his head back on the cool metal table, eyes fixed to the ceiling. Even with the medication it still feels like his abdomen is on fire but he's thankful that the pain is much more bearable now.

The supplies in the tray clink around as she gathers the materials. The silence makes him uncomfortable so he breaks it. "…Wally caught me."

She was so focused on threading the needle that she hadn't processed the statement. "Hm?"

"He caught me and Susie together so he got sorta' frosted. I figured he'd try somethin' but I wasn't ready for it."

Her intense concentration is unwavering as she replies offhandedly.

"Shame."

"Yeah."

He takes a sharp breath she starts stitching the wound. Trying to keep the excitement from his voice he asks much more smoothly than he thought he could manage. "Do ya' think it'll scar?"

"Possibly." The pain keeps him from smiling but he couldn't help but feel proud of his first battle scar even if the story behind it wasn't too noble. Naively, he thought that his small time scuffle with his fellow gang member meant that he was bad shit now. It's almost like an initiation right of sorts.

He hisses through gritted teeth trying his best to look unbothered by it. He'd rather die than let a doe eyed, goodie-two-shoes, nerd like Evie Catherine Grant see him cry.

"Don't be such a baby." She teases with contempt, noticing his struggle.

"Oh yeah, I liked to see a spaz like you in my place."

She frowns. "I've gotten stitches before."

Sarcasm dripping from his voice, he smirks at her. "Sure ya' did."

She wasn't going to bring up the time he popped her in the eye when they were 15. His sharp rings cut her up pretty bad but she wasn't about to admit it. It didn't leave a noticeable scar but there was a sliver missing from her left eyebrow that just wouldn't grow back. It wasn't too bad but it looked more noticeable because of her dark hair. She could recall her father being furious about the incident, exclaiming that their confrontations were getting far too violent. He threatened to go to the Overseer before realizing that would hurt his daughter more than her perpetrator.

Butch squirms in protest when she spitefully pulls the string too tight for comfort. His eyes fly open and he growls at her to be more careful.

Flippantly disregarding the hostility, she purses her lips. "Oops."

He lets out a tremendously dramatic sigh, callously dropping his head back on the cool metal of the table again.

"How long do ya' think it'll take Wally to cool off?"

"I don't know. He's your friend."

Butch can't stand the awkward silence but he's running out of things to talk about. He starts sifting through topics in his head like files, picking out an offhanded observation.

"So, haven't seen you and your little girlfriend around too much lately. Get into a fight or somethin'?" A mocking smiles spreads across his pained face.

He meant it as a joke but the way she visibly tenses at the question, straightening her posture is intriguing. He's clearly hit on something sensitive but he can't tell what. It makes him wonder about the nature of their relationship.

She tries to keep up her calm exterior but a shaky exhale gives her anxiety away. "Could you be quiet? I'm trying to concentrate."

He generously decides to leave it alone even though he had a lot of questions to interrogate her with. In his injured state, he didn't think he could extort the information he was looking for out of the girl. Evie had grown a resistance to his taunting over the years and that deeply aggravated him. She had taken up ignoring a lot of the abuse simply to avoid getting in trouble. She had mastered a perfect blank expression so that it was often difficult to tell what she was thinking and planning. Her voice was often monotonous and unpleasant but she had an abundance of undeserving patience for his nasty remarks. His classmate had become less and less interested in active fighting and more into passive resistance to please the compassionate philosophies of her idealistic father. Butch couldn't help but notice Dr. Grant regarding him in a very similar manner, although he was much more skilled in pretending to care and exchanging pleasantries.

She's snipping the ends of the thread by the time he realizes how long he was brooding over the loss of his childhood rival. He blinks in surprise, gazing up at her noticing the odd demeanor. She's fidgeting with the ends of the extra floss between her gloved fingertips.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, he runs a hand through his hair that has fallen out of place. "What are ya' starin' at four eyes?"

She's quiet for a time, debating whether or not to comment that she hasn't worn glasses since they were little.

"Do you ever think about what it's like?" It's a very cautious statement, calculating and testing.

"What?"

"Outside the Vault."

"No." The way he scoffs surprises her.

"Not ever?"

His face scrunches up in confusion. "No, why would I?"

He thoughts he could see the hope die behind her eyes in that exact moment. She sighs softly and leans against the table, head down, staring at her clean boots. It's quiet for a moment and she shyly brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

Butch groans internally, unsure if the pressure in his stomach is his injury, pity or indigestion.

"You do?"

The way she looks up at him creates a curious feeling blossom in his chest. She hasn't spoken frankly with him in years and often tries to hide her lack of self-confidence in his presence. She frequently rises up to meet his ridicule with a tough expression and witty banter. To see her so vulnerable makes him feel sick. And then anger for making him feel so unlike himself.

She sniffs and looks up at him through her dark eyelashes, shifting nervously in place. Arms crossed over her chest, her voice is soft. "Sometimes."

It's quiet between the two of them as they listen to the soft humming of the flickering lamp at her father's desk.

"I thought that you might," she starts tentatively but stops, "actually never mind. It doesn't matter anyway."

His face screws up mild irritation, upper lip curling. "You're the one who brought it up."

She pushes herself up from her leaning position and begins to walk away, flippantly dismissing the subject. "I know…" She mutters softly, straightening her spine and lifting her head up high. Her normally icy demeanor returns once again. The standoffish exterior reinitiates as she pulls something from the first-aid kit.

Her tone is very academic, as if she were speaking to stranger. "Take these for the pain and try not to rip your stitches." It's hard to believe he's looking at the same young girl he was speaking with a few minutes prior. At first he mistakes her clipped sentences for irritation but now he thinks the emotion would be better described as disappointment. He's never been the best at reading people but he feels stuck nonetheless.

"You gonna write up a report?"

"I hadn't planned on it."

"Why?"

She just sounds tired when she replies. "Don't worry about it."

"I don't need any favors." He doesn't like to be pitied, it's worse than an insult in his eyes.

"Now_ why_ would I ever do you a favor, Butch?"

He doesn't respond, his face just scrunches up in offence. He wants to ask her what she meant by that but he already knows. He didn't think he treated her too bad, it was only teasing. She knew that, right? Maybe he got carried away sometimes but it was only just foolin' around.

"How bout' I owe you a soda?"

"I don't want anything from you."

He glares at her. "I'm not good enough for you or somethin'?"

She shakes her head, trying to reassure him. "I just don't want anything."

"_Of course_ ya' don't. You're such a goodie two shoes."

"It's not that."

"I don't need your charity."

"It's not _charity_."

"Then I owe ya' one."

"No."

"Yeah."

He doesn't notice the assertiveness edging into her voice. "No."

He wasn't prepared to let it go. "Yeah."

They continued to bicker back and forth childishly until Evie becomes fed up. The way she raises her voice surprises him. In her outburst she hits up against the table behind her, rattling the contents of the pan. "_Could you just leave me alone already_?"

There is a storm brewing behind her intense green eyes.

"I just want to be left alone." It's a very cold statement. There is no pleading or emotion in it. Her voice is deathly serious, it cracks on the last syllable and Butch is unsure how to respond. He settles on giving her an uncomfortable head nod.

"Alright, fine…" He starts, sounding as understanding as could manage. "Whatever ya' want, Grant."

…

* * *

She thought she heard a voice calling her name but the old bed she occupied was just too comfortable to leave. Pulling the covers further over her head, her hands briefly glide over her matted hair. The dust that normally clung to the dirty tips was absent. This mattress isn't as lumpy as she remembers either. When she shifts with her dirty backpack in her arms, the contents don't shuffle around like they normally did. She couldn't feel the pressure from the knife in her boot; it felt like it had become apart of her. Rays of bright light from the large windows obnoxiously shone in to dance on her face. Her vision is momentarily blurry when she lifts herself up from the mattress. A soft sizzling rouses her from her nap and she reaches around for her pistol but comes up empty handed.

In a complete state of alarm, her eyes dart around the clean room. The bright plush carpet is gentle on her bare feet. The slight breeze from the window caresses the shear curtains, billowing and wandering like clouds on a calm summer's day. A beautiful large mahogany dresser stood up against the pristine floral printed wall. There was an assortment of stuffed animals arranged in stack next to the closet. Quite a few of them were teddy bears but they were all of different shapes and sizes. An assortment of shaded ribbons, bows and charms tied around their necks. A record player sat silent on the table next to the queen-sized bed she sprung up from in distress.

In the corner of her eye, a shadow looms over on the other side of the bed. Her peripheral vision spots another person standing deathly still across the room. She feels a bizarre rush of relief but confusion when she realizes that she was mistaken, it's only a vanity.

When she catches a glance in the mirror she nearly jumps out of her skin. Upon closer inspection, she realizes that the person reflected in the mirror was in fact her. Despite the glaring differences in appearance, it was in fact her body she was staring with wide eyes at. Standing in the front of the mirror is practically surreal. She runs a hand through long dark curly hair, noting how soft it feels. Her new body is much more frightening. The scars from scrapping around the Capital Wasteland have vanished, along with all the dirt and grime. Her armor has been replaced with a silky white night gown that feels warm to the touch. She rubs the long sleeves, watching the person in the mirror mimics her movements. Her new appearance reminds her of pre-war days, particularly the teenage girl in Vault Tec advertisements they had watched in school.

When she hears her name, she whips her dark hair to the side, frantically looking for a weapon to grab a hold of. The voice sounded awfully familiar but in her confusion she wasn't going to risk it. She arms herself with the baseball bat conveniently leaning up against the bedroom door. Turning over the club in her hands gently, she notices he callouses she had built up in the last few months wear gone. The wood is also considerably heavier than she remembers. She was extremely ill prepared for a battle, the only thing she could hope for was an easy escape if necessary.

Slowly creeping down the stairs, the sizzling noise becomes less muffled. The staircase is full and complete, pictures hanging in ornate frames on the walls. There are no stains, rips or holes anywhere in sight. For a moment, her shoulder softly glides against the minimally stripped wallpaper of the hallway.

A shrouded figure stands in front of the stove, the grain of the gray sweater vest shifting with small movements. The sound of metal scraping against metal is unpleasant and makes her feel uneasy. When he turns to face her, she's almost certain she has stopped breathing. The man turns to her and flashes a bright smile that reaches his eyes.

"Hello sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

Her heart skips a beat; all thoughts leave her. An intense mixture of confusion, disbelief and happiness washes over her. Suddenly, she finds it hard to stand on her own two feet. In her emotional daze, her knees nearly fail to support her weight. The weapon slips out of her fingers and makes a loud sound when it clatters on the floor.

"Dad?" The word gets stuck in her throat, barely passing her lips.

James scrapes at the contents of the frying pan with a metal spatula and shuffles the bacon on a glass plate.

The bright smile fades when he sees the tears welling in her eyes and he swiftly turns off the gas on the burner before walking up to her.

"Evie, honey, what's wrong?" He brushes the mess of hair from her face.

Choking back a sob, she buries her face into his sweater vest unintelligibly mumbling. She told herself she wasn't going to cry, be strong, but she couldn't do it. It feels strange to cry after such a long time but the forceful sobbing was still cathartic for her.

He soothingly rubs circles into her back, whispering words of encouragement.

"You can tell me anything, pumpkin. It's going to be alright."

She wraps her arms more tightly around him.

"I don't understand."

"Understand?"

"Where are we?" She rasps.

His gray speckled eyebrows furrow in confusion. "What do mean, sweetie? We're home."

Her words come out in a rush of breath, almost bordering on hysterical. "But the Vault, 112, I went there to look for you. Dr. Li suggested you'd be there. How did we get here? Where is here?"

"Slow down, honey. I'm not following."

"Dad, it was horrible. The Overseer went crazy after you left. Things, bad things, happened…" Evie starts to slow her sentences, taking in the look of bewilderment on her father's face. "…I, um, Dad? Why are staring at me?"

James gives her a concerned look, placing a brief kiss on her forehead checking for fever. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I don't understand. What is this vault business? Are you still feeling ill?"

Evie's flushed face pales in shock. "You don't remember?"

James shakes his head, worry etched into his features. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She desperately grabs onto the front of his sweater, her knuckles almost turning white from the pressure. A hiccup rises in her throat as she tries her best to explain but she could feel her father's patient gaze turn more sympathetic but worried with every word that left her ranting lips. When he pries himself away from her, she realizes that there was no possible way to convince him with rhetoric alone.

She stood there pathetically, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She sniffs, both heartbroken and anxious. Evie wasn't sure what she was going to do, so many questions buzzing around in her head.

For a moment she thinks about asking him why he left her. She thought to ask how he could just stand there with a blissful smile on his face when there were so many innocent people dying in the wasteland. She thought to ask about project purity. She wanted to ask about her mother and the way she was able to inspire him so greatly that he thought it's be better to leave his only family behind for a dream. Was this unrealistic goal really more important than her? She thought to ask what he had expected her to do without him to guide her. Despite the flurry of emotions behind her bleary eyes, she thought better of it and came up with a subpar excuse.

"I'm sorry…"

Wiping her puffy eyes with the collar of her modest nightgown, she takes a deep breath.

"I… I just had a really bad dream."

James looks skeptical but gives her a sympathetic smile. "Well, the nightmare's over now. I'm here."

He had absolutely no idea how much that resonated with her. The duel meaning makes her eyes start to water once again but she blinks them back successfully. She smiles through her sorrow, nodding in agreement.

He sighs, patting her on the shoulder before reaching for the glass plate behind him, offering the contents up to her. She shyly takes a strip of the bacon before nibbling on the end tentatively.

"Good?" He asks.

She nods happily, enjoying being in the presence of her father once again.

"I'm glad." He pulls out the wooden chair at the table, motioning for her to sit.

When she hesitates, he encourages her. "Come on. You should eat."

She wasn't used to being waited on and his attentiveness perplexes her. Fidgeting on the cushion of the wooden chair, she found the situation uncomfortable. When she tries to think of the last time her father cooked her breakfast, she fails to recall the memory, assuming it was probably at least 7 years ago.

He places a crystal glass down, pouring juice from the carton into the glass. When he gives her a gentle smile, she forces herself to return it despite her discomfort. Staring at the large plate he sets in front of her, she figured there is no harm in asking. "Is this for me?"

He chuckles. "Of course. I know I tease you a little sometimes, but I'm not that bad am I?" He pulls out another chair for himself, posture straight, folding his hands together neatly on the tablecloth.

Poking at the yolk of her fried egg, most of the food on her plate was foreign to her. Hoping to avoid embarrassment, she slowly takes a few bites of her pancakes.

Hesitating, she glances up at her father staring at her from across the kitchen table. "Are you going to eat?"

Shaking his head, he waves it off. "I already did."

"Oh…" She averts her gaze back to the food on her plate, using the side of her fork to cut up smaller pieces. It's quiet for a time, and the only thing that can be heard between them is the slight scraping of the metal utensils against the ceramic plate.

He sighs, absently knocking his knuckles against the wood of the table. "Would you like to talk about your nightmare?"

She thinks carefully, debating about how to word her sentences. She uses the food in her mouth as an excuse to plan out the information. Humming softly, she's minimal in her response. "You left, basically… I was all alone."

He sighs thoughtfully. "I am _not_ going anywhere, you know that right?"

She nods even though there is a nagging skeptical voice in the back of her mind. Wanting to believe him, she pushes the doubt away. She stares at the remainder of what was left on her plate.

"You don't have to eat it all. I know you're still not feeling well."

"Are you sure?" She mutters, not wanting to take advantage of the special treatment.

"I'm just happy you're getting an appetite again."

He returns a smile before turning to the stove, placing a couple dirty dishes and utensils in the sink. He rolls up his sleeves before running the water.

Evie observes the surroundings in the kitchen, noticing a fairly modern looking clock hanging on the wall above the refrigerator. A full host of assorted appliances lined the counter next to the stove, all neatly arranged. A couple of decorative plates hung from their concealed hooks on the wall and a particularly shiny looking teapot gleamed in the sunlight. She slides out of her chair and looks under the hood of the breadbox.

Her father breaks the silence, wiping the side of his face against the higher part of his sleeve when a few drops of the soapy water jumps up and gets him. "You know, I thought you were going to be up for going back to school today but now I'm not so sure…"

Evie blinks, the thought rolling over in her head. She wasn't sure what that entailed but if she wanted to get to the bottom of this, she was going to have to investigate. If she ever wanted to convince her father, she was going to have to formulate a plan.

"I'll be okay." She raises her voice over the sound of running water.

Worry scrunches his brow once again. "Are you sure? I don't mind you staying home another day. I'll just tell the school you're still running a fever."

She smiles a genuine one this time. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"_Okay_", he starts, sounding incredulous, before wiping his hands off on the dishrag "but you might want to get dressed. Amata will be here soon."

"Amata?" She asks, confused.

He maneuvers around the fridge to catch a glance at the clock. "Yeah, it's around that time isn't it?"

* * *

_**AN:/**__ I don't expect many if any to read this but I'll pretend:expect another chapter really soon. I chopped this one in half so I could post it sooner. The second half needs some revision._


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **__Oh my gosh, this update took infinitely longer than I anticipated. Sorry to the 3 people out there that were mildly interested in this fic. Life has just been exceedingly terrible to me lately… This chapter is so subpar, please excuse me. I've been sitting on fragments of this for months._

* * *

"It's almost 7:00." James muses, placing a wet dish in the rack beside the sink.

She's up the staircase before he can say anything else and she twists the wrong way before successfully finding her bedroom once again.

She scans over her new body once again briefly, still not quite comfortable in it yet.

Pulling on one of the ornate handles of her dresser, she sorts through the outfits neatly folded inside. All the dresses, skirts, pants and shirts are different shades of grey. She doesn't particularly care for any of them but she matches up a collared shirt and dark pants with functional pockets. She pulls her hair up in a ponytail and her dark locks flip up at the ends. When she looks in the mirror, it still feels wrong. It feels like the reflection wasn't her, as if there were something else staring back. The creepy thought sends a shiver down her spine.

She hears muffled conversation from the living room and she's able to make out some of the specifics.

"Hello Mr. Grant. Is Evie up for coming back to school yet?" A high-pitched voice greets at the door.

"Yes, actually, she is. Excuse me for a moment…"

"Eva!" Her Dad calls up the stairs again. "Amata's here!"

Still not used to her new long hair, it gets caught in her mouth when she spins around too quickly. When she stumbles down the flight, her friend giggles at her. "Geez, running late?" Evie laughs nervously, heat rising in her cheeks.

When she spots Amata, mixed feeling rise in her gut. She was happy to see her friend again, no doubt in that but it just didn't make any sense. _Perhaps I'm still dreaming?_ She thought to herself.

She couldn't help but stare at her dearest friend. She'd never seen Amata in a skirt before now but she really wished she had. Evie regrets not making Amata go to the Vault prom with her, she didn't care if they would have gotten in trouble. To see her in pretty dress, nice makeup, would have been worth it.

Her normally tousled hair was pulled back more tidy than how she was used to. Her dark eyes sparkled when she smiled at her. Her tanned skin looked soft to the touch and Evie was tempted to reach out and do so. The mild trance she was under is broken when her father pipes up.

James turns around and clears his throat into his fist, cynically eyes his daughter on the stair. "_Evie_, you're going to wear trousers to school?"

She was completely earnest, looking down at her outfit and then back to her father. "Why not?"

"Don't you think they're too casual? Why don't you go put on something more appropriate." He chided softly.

"But Mr. Grant, they're totally _in_ right now." Amata chimes in.

He turns around to give her a tired but firm look. "Maybe for other young ladies but not my daughter."

"_Fine_." Evie exasperates. She whips around dramatically, throwing her head back and sighing in frustrating before stomping back to her room. Her father smiles, shaking his head at her theatrical exit.

Before they're out the door with no more complaints, her father pulls out a dark leather-bound billfold, selecting a dollar and 30 cents in dimes and nickels from it.

"Lunch money." He tells her when she looks at him confused by the pre-war money gleaming in her palm. She crunches the bill and change in her hand, stuffing it in the pocket of her skirt.

"Just don't spend it all on sweets."

Evie shakes off the confusion lightly, trying to come up with a witty comeback and it only half successful. She fakes offense, placing a hand on her chest. "Gee, Dad. You don't trust me?"

He smiles, ruffling her hair as if she hadn't said anything. A couple of loose strands fall out of her high ponytail. "You take an easy at school now."

She can't help but keep yanking on the end of her skirt as they walk out the door, uncomfortable with the new, breezy sensation.

The outside overwhelmed her senses, almost making her feel dizzy. When her shoes patted on the sidewalk, it felt as if her legs weren't moving. Completely speechless by her surroundings, Evie had a difficult time keeping up. It's hard for her not to just stare at everything outside. The crisp, white line picket fences, the clean long winding sidewalks and all of the _trees_. Their leaves rustle in hushed tones on the relaxing breeze. It was truly an experience to hear their musical like swishes wafting through the fresh air.

Evie had a long-standing interest in vegetation growing up in the mechanical workings of the vault. An ambiguous memory of her 13th birthday passes through her mind. She remembers her father suggesting not to have a party that year due to her unpopularity with the other residents but particularly the Overseer. His voice was stern and eyes piercing when he expressed that he felt Evie hadn't been working efficiently. To take a day off for celebration didn't feel like a good idea so she understood. Despite the final decision, Jonas was kind enough to give her a present anyway. The book was old and rare with an assortment of information about herbal healing methods. It detailed which plants were poisonous in full color and the regions they grew in before the war. She had only ever seen pictures of plants in their piss poor collection of pre-war books back in the Vault. She often reread them at night, before the light generators shut off. She vaguely remembers her father catching her reading after bedtime and chided her for using the emergency flashlight to continue after hours.

Amata confidently breaks the silence. Her heeled shoes clicked on the pavement as they walked to school. Her voice was like a dream that broke Evie from the trance.

"I like your skirt."

Evie looks at her skirt and then to Amata's. They have a few minor differences but they looked almost the same to her. Grey was grey in her eyes. The small difference in pattern wasn't very significant. Instead she mumbles gratitude despite disagreeing.

It would be an understatement to say that she missed her friend after her timely departure from the Vault. Despite her strong feelings about Amata, she couldn't help but feel her becoming distant before she escaped. There last meeting wasn't exactly under fortunate circumstances and she left in the middle of an argument before she could apologize. She wanted to be close to her again, like they had been when they were little. This might be the only chance she was ever going to get to see Amata happy with her again.

Evie sighs, frustrated with her own internal dialogue. She told herself that she had more important things to think about but she can't help but watch the way Amata sways when she walks. The arm she doesn't have wrapped around her books, swings uselessly at her side, brushing up against her grey skirt.

"Um, Amata?" Evie tests softly.

"Hm?"

"Could we…" Evie starts sheepishly, preparing for the possibility of rejection. "Could we hold hands?"

Amata looks confused for a moment but agrees to her surprise. "Okay." When she flashes her a warm smile, Evie can't help but return one.

"So, what did I miss at school?"

Amata hums softly placing her other hand to her cheek in thought. "Well, we got worksheets in arithmetic. I'll lend you my notes for Geography and we didn't do anything cool in Home Ec like usual."

"Thanks, Amata." She says absently, surveying the area around them. There were a couple of people walking down the street but she didn't recognize any of their faces. She doesn't think she's ever been exposed to this many different people before.

"Butch has been really worried about you." Evie's head whips around in surprise, upper lip curled in disgust.

"Ew, why?"

"Because! You were sick for like a week and your Dad wouldn't let him see you."

_Good._ Evie grimaces at the thought of Butch at their doorstep.

"I fail to see the problem."

"Well, he's like_, totally_ sweet on you. Wouldn't you get worried about him if he was sick?"

"_What?" _Her face scrunches up in revulsion at the falsehood. An involuntary shudder breaks through her body at the thought._"_ No way!"

Even the mere mention of his name makes her head hurt. Subconsciously, she brushes the back of her hand on her mouth while thinking of the time he slammed her face into the wall, effectively breaking her nose. She thinks of the time he put chewing gum in her hair and she had to crop it short against her will. She thinks of all the nasty things he's said to her, all the bruises that resulted from their short-lived fistfights. She briefly thinks about the time she turned 7 and Butch knocked out two of her baby teeth. When she thinks about it, she may still have the photo that shows the aftermath. Her father still sported dark brown hair then, and everyone could see the big space in her smile. Those were the petty things that irked her, especially every time she had to rearrange her schedule to avoid getting mixed up with his small time gang, but she'll never forget the insidious way he tried to blackmail her. Her fathers advice about compassion was difficult to follow, particularly when it came to someone like Butch but she wasn't about to hold a nasty grudge against him. In spite of that, she didn't have to like him either.

"Really? I would of thought different." Amata adds, unsure of how to respond to the bold declaration from her friend.

Evie huffs, crossing her arms. "He's such a jerk." She mumbles more to herself than to Amata.

Amata stops walking to give her a surprised look. "Are you sure you're better enough to go back to school?" Amata asks earnestly.

"Huh? Why?"

"You just seem a little, _out of sorts_." A worried look appears on her friends face and Evie's getting tired of everyone asking her the same question over and over again.

"Yeah. I'm fine." She says slightly more irritated than she hoped to sound.

"_Alright_. If you say so…" Amata sighs, backing off and pulling her hand from Evie's grip much to her disappointment.

A crossing guard waves to the two of them, standing on the corner near the playground. A mess of busy, old-fashioned cars zip through the intersection and Evie is mesmerized by the sights around her once again.

Amata smiles and greets him "Hello Officer Gomez!"

With some further inspection, Evie does notice that his face seems familiar now that it's been pointed out to her.

"Ah! Hello Miss Almodovar!" He waves, white gloves shimmering in the sunlight. When the officer spots Evie he nods his head in acknowledgement.

"Evie Grant too I see. Not skipping school today?"

"She was sick!" Amata interjects in playful defense.

He shakes his head and clicks his tongue in a sarcastic manner. "That's no excuse."

His speech stops short when a large dog trots out in front of Evie. Her shoulders jump involuntarily, taking a couple steps back when the creature barks at her.

Officer Gomez lunges out and catches a stunned Evie, steading her by her forearm before she could tumble into the bushes of the playground. "You okay, honey?"

She nods, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, body still stiff with shock from the unexpected disruption. He turns back to the dog trying to coerce it away, gently. "Go on! Shoo!" The dog whines and apprehensively backs away, barking in a nonthreatening manner at the officer. "Go on boy! Get out of here!"

A high pitched giggle catches Evie's attention away from the scene, located a young girl staring at her predicament with amusement. Her voice sounds like an artificially sugary sweet that leaves a bad aftertaste and the idea that she finds pleasure in Evie's embarrassment bothers her. She can't quite place it but something feels really off about the playground, goose bumps rise up on her arms and she wraps them around herself, regretting not bringing a heavier sweater. The wind that was peaceful and exotic seemed to rip right through her.

"Who's that kid?"

Amata looks around, scanning right over where Evie pointed. "What kid?"

"_That_ one." Evie makes her gesture more clear.

Amata turns around concerned. "Are you _really_ sure you are up for school today?"

"Yes! And I'm not sick!"

Amata looks skeptical. "Alright! You don't need to be so rude. I was just worried about you."

Evie's face softens and her cheeks feel a slight prickle, as if she were blushing again. "Oh, you were?"

Amata nods noticing that the old-style cars stopped in the intersection and Officer Gomez waving them across the street.

"Come on. Let's go." Disoriented, Evie complies empty as her friend guides her.

Officer Gomez gives them a final word. "You kids be careful!"

He wags his finger at Evie, twinkle in his eye. "And no more playing hooky now, missy."

Despite the wary feeling, a smile can't help but break across her face. She calls back to him.

"No promises, Officer Gomez."

He winks at her, turning back to his duty to conduct traffic.

* * *

They trot up the concrete steps of the school entrance, the cement in pristine condition. When her feet start to slow, Amata finds herself pulling her friend along again.

"Come on! I don't wanna be late."

Evie agrees, pushing her legs alittle further in step and taking longer strides.

She dutifully follows her friend into the classroom, freezing at the entrance at the sight of all her classmates. She had hoped she would never have to see them again but here they all were. Susie and Christine where seated in front, Amata and Freddie in the middle row, and Butch, Paul and Wally were piled in the back, reclining their feet up on empty desks.

Evie takes a desk next to Amata near the window so she can gaze out at the large oak tree, its leaves swaying rhythmically. Glancing around at familiar faces, she unintentionally settles further into her seat. She opens the top of her desk, checking the contents inside. A flawless row of number two pencils, a pen complete with ink well and a square pink eraser sat in the ledge at the bottom. A thin hard covered novel with no title on the front and various textbooks and folders filled the rest of the space. She pulls out the heftiest book to use as armor. The height provides the perfect shield from the prying eyes around her.

All of a sudden everyone turns around, righting themselves in their wooden seats. The room turns silent except for the whispering of a couple defiant voices in the back. Many assumed a scholarly position, folding their hands and sitting upright as the teacher walks through the threshold. He walks with purpose, film reel tucked under one arm, the soles of his shoes clattering on the hardwood floor.

He sighs, not even attempting enthusiasm. "Good morning, class."

"Good morning, Mr. Brotch." The class mimicked in a purposefully obnoxious tone and he winces in response.

"Yeah, yeah. I know we'd all rather be doing something better with our time, but I'm stuck here with all of you instead."

"Can we have class outside today?" A particularly teasing voice asks, already knowing the answer.

Mr. Brotch grumbles at the dumb question, his nose wrinkling in irritation. "No. We're watching a film."

The boys in the back shoot out of their seats, waving hands in the air as volunteers. "Can we get the projector?"

"Alright, boys." He sighs in defeat, immediately regretting the decision. Rummaging through his desk for the keys to the storeroom closet, he picks out the key from the ring. Butch snatches the keys from him before he can give instructions and sprints out the door with his cronies scrambling not far behind.

"Hey! Not all of you!" He calls out after them but his plea is left on deaf ears. He grumbles about 'not getting paid enough for this,' and goes to pulls the shades down on the windows, being interrupted by a loud crash down the hall.

A loud rattling and muffled voices echo down the hallway. Harsh whispers and laughter travel through the thin walls. Pinching the bridge between his eyes, he groans in frustration, a headache brewing. He steps out of the classroom for a moment.

"Quit horsin' around!" A hiss is laced in his attempt to keep his voice down. One of them snickers and another apologizes insincerely.

As the cart is being wheeled in, Mr. Brotch smacks Butch on the back of the head and he whines like a child.

"Ow! What was that for, teach?"

"Just go sit down."

"_Man_," Butch mumbles to himself, rubbing the back of his neck as he pulls up his chair.

"What is this film about?" Susie asks aloud without raising her hand.

Picking up chalk from the ledge, he writes a single word on the blackboard and underlines it "Obligation".

"Because you all have such a promising future ahead of you," he starts, sarcasm drips from his voice.

"Someone get the lights, please."

He pulls down the white screen in front of the blackboard and situates himself behind the cart, fitting the reel into the 16mm projector. When it doesn't turn on straight away, some students throw out suggestions.

"Is it fitting right?"

"Kick it around a little!"

"Make sure it's level!"

He ignores them, jamming the film into place and the reel begins to turn. A rustic symphonic sound comes from the crackly speakers, accompanied by a countdown.

He spots Butch and his gang congregating in the back of the class and foresees that nothing good can come from it.

"Boys, sit up here." He insists.

"How come?" Wally protests, annoyed.

"It took four of you to get the projector. I just assumed you were incompetent in all other areas as well. You're all sitting up here." They all sigh and grumble at the inconvenience, dragging their feet as they pull their nosy chairs with them. When everyone is finally situated, the narrator introduces the title and begins to talk about the family on screen.

Evie was never good at drawing but she doodles little flowers and rocket ships on the back of her folder anyway, casually glancing back up at Mr. Brotch to see if he'll notice. If he does, he doesn't say anything until he spots Butch predatorily perched behind Evie, trying to stuff a note into the back of her collar.

"Mr. DeLoria? Are you watching?" He asks, tone chiding, already knowing the answer.

Butch slinks slowly back into his chair, folding his arms. He huffs at the inconvenience of being caught. "Yeah."

"_Okay_, the screen is up this way."

"Ya' don't have to tell me twice."

"Good. Then watch."

Butch grumbles, reclining further back in his seat as Evie attempts to discreetly scoot her desk up further, out of reach.

Evie only partially listens to the film. It was your typical public service announcement with an over enthusiastic narrator littering his sentences with slang adults thought the youth were familiar with. Urging young people to be good citizens and watch for suspicious characters abandoning strange packages at the post office or the front seats of streetcars. Keeping an eye out was imperative if didn't want the communists to get a drop on the country, apparently.

The film is obnoxiously long and half way through, Evie glances around the room at her classmates after she's filled two pages of her notebook with mediocre doodles. Not even half of the room seemed aware of the film. She was slightly surprised to notice Mr. Brotch refolding the newspaper to get a better look at the employment section if she had to guess. He seemed more interested in sipping his coffee than policing the students at this point, which was wise decision on his part if he wanted to avoid chaos.

She has a great view of Wally's giant head partially blocking the screen due to Mr. Brotch's forceful suggestion earlier yet she can't tell is he was sleeping from this angel. He's reclined so far back into his seat he was more than a 90-degree angle but his face is still propped up by an elbow. Paul uses both of his arms as a cradle for his head and Freddie doesn't even pretend to be awake. His face planted flat down on the desk, a dangerous position if he wanted to resist to drool.

Amata is leaning over in her seat, fairing much better at pretending to pay attention than any of the boys but not by much. Susie and Christine seemed to be the only ones fully awake, discreetly writing notes back and forth to one another, the sound hidden by the crackling of speakers. Evie didn't dare to check on Butch behind her, afraid he'd give her a look that she's ultimately regret later.

She feels a yawn coming on and is happy when the film finally flaunts text that reads 'The End' in fancy script before the rest of the credits roll. Mr. Brotch seems to start when he glances at the clock, throwing the newspaper down before crossing the room, switching the lights on. The alert students complain at the brightness and the dozing ones groan, slowly unlocking from their positions. She faintly catches a glimpse of arms stretching high in the air from behind her but is distracted by Paul shoving a red faced Freddie awake, his hair plastered to his forehead.

"Alright everyone. Now don't forget tonight's homework." Mr. Brotch warns as the class begins to moan in disapproval.

"But it's such a nice day out!" Butch complains from behind her, voice still husky with sleep.

"Yeah, and you'll get to enjoy it after you write me that essay. I will only accept assignments at the beginning of class tomorrow, no exceptions."

The students grumble in unison, gathering their things together. Evie places her head down on the desk at the idea of homework, beginning to wish she had maybe taken a nap instead of attempting to look busy. She hears most of the students leave the classroom and Amata tells her that she has to use the restroom.

"Okay." She mumbles in response. Her head is down for a long time so when she hears light rapping beside her head, she's not sure if she's dreaming.

When finally lifts her head, she's mildly startled to observe a sight she hadn't experienced in years.

"Hey Evie!" A familiar smiling face beamed down at her.

She lazily glances up, muttering softly. "Oh, hey Freddie."

He hadn't spoken to kindly to her in a couple of years due to his late entry and hopeless romping around with The Tunnel Snakes. Butch insisted that one of the rules in his gang that no one could talk to the unworthy which Evie was unofficially dubbed since early childhood.

Her eyes narrow in suspicion at his friendly demeanor. Being decent to her, especially in public, was something he didn't practice often. However the genuine emotion in his smile makes her heart melt. She begins to miss their friendship terribly. Despite the feelings rising in her gut, she squashes them without remorse.

"Do you wanna hang after school?"

Her eyes widen in surprise and she's unable to stop the automatic rejection that come out of her mouth. It's a developed trait she's acquired over the years.

"I've got some things to do." She mumbles against her will.

"Like what?"

She's searching her mind for an excuse to come up with. If she was going to be honest, she wanted to speak with Amata after class.

All of a sudden, Freddie makes eye contact with a forceful presence hulking from the back of the class and his face immediately pales. His lazy posture straightens and he fidgets from anxiety.

"Sorry, Freddie, maybe another time."

He lets out a nervous chuckle, nodding vigorously. "Yeah, okay. I'll see ya' around. Bye Evie!" He waves goodbye but not before getting his knee caught in-between two desks that are set up too close to one another. He doubles over due to the shock before righting himself fluidly, spinning around swiftly. His embarrassing exit was kind of painful for her to watch.

* * *

After class, she aimless walks until she senses a strange feeling that leads her to one of the lockers. She's disturbed to find that her fingers automatically seem to know the combination as if she had done this a hundred different times. A sigh falls from her lips as she reflects on everything has happened since she entered the simulation. Finding a way out and getting her father to follow seemed like an insurmountable task at the moment. The thought that she might never discover escape weighs heavy on her heart.

Deep in thought, she feels an arm snake around her waist. Her shoulders jump in surprise and she tries to move out of the person's grasp. It took everything in her being to not turn around and punch whoever this was square in the jaw.

"Hey, dolly. Got a kiss for me?" He half smiles, leaning far too close for her comfort.

Evie's face twists into revulsion, wriggling in his grasp. "Get off!" In her panicked state she can only beat on the front of his chest.

She gets over the surprise quickly and wisely goes to a more vital region, particularly his head.

"Woah! I was just joshin'. Geez…" He removes his arm to Evie's relief, showing her his empty palms as if he had been caught by the police.

"You still feelin' the least?"

Her mouth thins to a hard line, examining the stranger before her. Under the scrutiny, she quickly notices that this boy wasn't as strange to her as she originally thought. She didn't recognize him in the pre-war attire, a button up gingham shirt and jeans. It just didn't seem like Butch without his hard ass attitude but she was certain.

She stares at him with hard eyes. She thinks she sees him shiver under her cold gaze and tries her hardest not to let a small, satisfied smile appear on her lips.

"I'm just not 100% yet."

He uncharacteristically almost stutters. "Oh, that's too bad."

She sighs picking out a book from her locker before slamming the door and turning on her heels. There are long strides in her walk but considering Butch's height, he keeps up with ease, not sensing the hostility.

He follows behind her like a lost puppy. "May I carry your books?"

"No, I got it."

His brow knits together in thought. "It's gettin' kinda chilly. Do you want to wear my jacket?"

"I'm alright, thanks." She shuts him out again.

"Do you think you'll be up for going out this weekend?"

"Oh, I'm not sure."

"What about the soda shop after school?"

"I can't. I was going to work on homework with Amata."

He averts his gaze, clearly feeling dejected. "Oh, okay. What about tomorrow?"

It was off to see that expression on Butch's face. When she thinks about it, Evie had only ever seen a range of arrogance to anger on the boy's face before.

"Why don't you hang with Paul and Wally instead?" She offers.

He hums to himself before nodding and gives her a half smile. "Yeah, okay. Maybe I will."

She hopes this is all it would take to get him to leave her but she's never been that lucky before.

"Wait, c'mere."

He strides past her leaning himself on the row of lockers, effectively blocking her path. When she tries to go around him, he boxes her in with his free arm. Butch had done this many times to her before growing up but never this nonviolently. Usually this kind of situation resulted in a couple of lumps forming on the back of her head where Butch had shoved her up against the cool metal of the sanitary vault walls. The content smile on his face makes her uncomfortable. _What the hell is so he happy about?_

"I'm glad you're back at school."

She tries her best cover up her scowl with a half smile. "Thanks." It's difficult to conceal the sarcasm in her voice.

When he leans in she tries to maneuver out of the tight space. His voice is uncharacteristically soft and it frightens her. "I missed you."

The only thing she can manage to do is desperately avoid eye contact, her eyes darting anywhere but his gentle expression. She doesn't know what to follow up with. It would be the most tremendous lie she's ever told if she attempted to agree with the sentiment.

"Yeah." She mutters under her breath, still looking for a way out of the awkward confines. She felt like a caged animal with its foot caught in a trap.

He was being far too nice to her. She didn't care if they had the same face; this most certainly was _not_ Butch DeLoria. Not-Butch, _Anti-Butch?_

To her relief, that seems to be all he needed and takes off in the opposite direction.

"See ya' round." Not-Butch waves in a friendly way she didn't care for before finally disappearing out of sight.

* * *

_**A/N:** Don't worry, Butch will not be OOC for the entirety of this story. There's a reason for it I swear._


End file.
